


Little Things

by DontForgetToPanic



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Eating Disorders, F/M, M/M, it's unintentional but there is self harm, trigger warnings for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-02
Updated: 2013-02-02
Packaged: 2017-11-27 23:37:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/667758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DontForgetToPanic/pseuds/DontForgetToPanic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where Liam doesn't believe anyone can love him, Niall can't help but hide his love, Zayn isn't noticed and he doesn't think he ever will be, Harry is tired of hiding, and Louis doesn't think he can handle anymore.<br/>based off the song little things, and takes place the day before the start of their world tour.  I took major timing liberties on this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Things

“Hey, you.” Liam calls, smile spreading on his face because okay, he’s okay.

He’s always loved the summer (because summer means swimming, and being able to walk outside without a jacket, and only a few years ago no school) so today is just wonderful, perfect as he leans his head back and lets the sun kiss his face for a moment, soaking in the heat with a lazy greed. Liam stands up when Danielle approaches the little café table, pulling out her chair because even after years together he still feels the need to do so (remembering the advice his mother said when he was a teen and was planning on asking Lydia Johnson out to prom. His mother told him that if he was a gentleman anything was possible, and he still holds onto her advice today.)(When he asked Lydia out the day later by her lockers, flowers in one hand and a smile on his face, she just laughed her beautiful laugh, shook her beautiful head, and walked away like the beautiful girl she is. Liam didn’t end up going to prom.)

Dani tries to smile back, tries to sound as excited as he when she says a soft “Hey Liam,” but she can’t help but show the disappointment through her face, her defeat in the way she sits down, the passivity in the way her face falls from its sad attempt of a smile. Liam doesn’t notice (or pretend he doesn’t anyway, maybe he’s just so good at lying to himself he doesn’t even notice when he does it anymore.) and reaches out to hold her hand on the top of the table, rubbing his thumb over her palm and ignoring the way she doesn’t hold his hand back, the way her body grows stiffer with every passing second. Instead he just bites the inside of his cheek and studies her face, noticing the little freckles dotting her nose have grown darker now that it’s summer (and he loves those freckles, the little faults on her dark skin, but she hates them, the freckles. She complains about them sometimes, in the mornings when she’s putting on her makeup and her foundation doesn’t seem to cover them, but Liam makes sure to tell her she’s perfect, kissing each freckle in turn until none feel left out, finishing off with a little peck on her nose just because he wants to hear her laugh) and Liam can feel how perfectly their hands fit together, how they’re like a puzzle he’s been waiting years to finish.

“I’ve really missed you, I’m so glad I’m back.” Liam tells her, punctuating his sentiment with a squeeze of her hand, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth. Danielle sighs and takes a drink of her water as an excuse to pull her hand back, looking all around the café, at the white railing that separates their little outdoor table from the street, at the people passing by (anywhere that isn’t Liam).

“You’re leaving again tomorrow though, aren’t you?” She says, still holding the water glass up to her lips. Liam’s smile falters only in the slightest, but he pushes himself along (because he can be a persistent little bugger when he wants to be, and he’s determined for today to be perfect).

“Yeah, but once our world tour’s over we’re off for months.” Liam points out, hoping that she remembers how important these next months are to him…to the band.

“On and off.”

“What?” Liam asks, distracted as he glances around for a waiter because the sooner they eat the sooner he can do what he’s planning next (and he’s not sure if he wants to get it over with or if he wants this night to drag on forever, because it’s going to be perfect, Dani is perfect and the rest of their lives is going to be perfect). 

“On and off,” she repeats, pursing her lips and waiting until she has Liam’s attention back, “you spend a week in Sweden less than a month after you get back. And a few days later you start recording your single. And after that you have award show season which come on you know you guys are going to have to go to all of them, and then…”

“Dani, it’s not going to be like this forever.” Liam tries to sooth her, worried now because the more she’s been talking the faster she’s speaking, the higher her voice is growing (and Liam knows her, he knows her and he knows what she does when she’s upset.)

“I know, I know that, but what about now? What about us, we aren’t even us anymore, I never see you! We can’t be us if we never see each other!” Her voice grows higher with every word until she’s loud enough for the people in the neighboring tables to take notice, and Liam’s reaching over to try and hold her hand and this isn’t how today’s supposed to go, today is supposed to be perfect.

“Dani, I’m sorry but I…”

“I know.” She sighs, resignation settling upon her features and she shrinks into herself, pulling her hand back for the second time and sinking lower in her seat. Liam furrows his eyebrows together but he’s determined because today is it, today is the day he’s been planning this for months, late nights talking to his mum on the phone, sneaking around in the mornings so she won’t know which stores he’s been searching. He can feel the weight in his pocket, the little box pressing against his thigh and today’s the day, today’s going to be perfect.

“Dani, I…”

“You need to cut your hair,” she interrupts, reaching out with one lazy hand to twirl some of his hair around her finger, his hair just starting to get wavy again, long enough to cover just the tips of his ears, “it’s starting to get shaggy again.”

“I’m getting it trimmed next week.” Liam murmurs, tilting his head to the side to press harder against her palm, letting his eyes fall closed as she runs her fingers against her scalp because she knows just what spot to rub, just where to touch to get Liam to relax.

“You’ll be in Japan next week.” Danielle says, her voice guarded and she pulls her hand back, the warmth leaving just as quickly as it came.

“Yeah, we’ll be there all week.” Liam agrees, eyeing her warily because this isn’t what he wants to talk about, he doesn’t want to talk about him leaving; he wants to talk about today and about them and about love. He wants to talk about the way their hands are perfect for each other and how she makes him smile in a way he doesn’t think he ever had before and how they can spend all night talking about nothing but at the same time talking about everything.

She shakes her head but doesn’t say anything other than “alright.” Liam doesn’t know when he started but he just realizes he’s bouncing his leg up and down at surprising speed and he’s nervous, why is he nervous? He’s planned everything out; he’s gotten everything ready, he’s excited not nervous.

“So, I was thinking after we eat we can go on a walk, we can go on the path around the pond like we always do and…”

“I don’t think this is a good idea.” Danielle interrupts, sitting up in her seat and looking him right in the eye for the first time since she sat down. Liam doesn’t say anything for a moment, just blinking back at her because it’s taking him a while to understand.

“Oh, okay. We don’t have to go on a walk we can…”

“No,” she shakes her head again, closing her eyes for a moment and folding her hands in her lap because she doesn’t know what else to do with them, “I mean us, I don’t think us is a good idea anymore. At least right now.” Liam blinks back at her, this time longer than before because he doesn’t understand, today is supposed to be perfect.

“Is this not a good time? Do you need to be somewhere, do you have work?” Liam asks and he knows that’s not what she means, he knows she’s not talking about that, but it’s today and she’s Dani and they’re them, this can’t be happening.

“No,” she says again, a bit more confidently this time, “I don’t have anywhere else I have to be.”

“But…” Liam trails off, scrunching his face in a way that Dani usually finds adorable but now she just looks pained, “but are you…are you breaking up with me?”

“I just think we aren’t working right now, we never see each other and we’ve just kind of gotten—boring, you know? Like we aren’t exciting anymore.” She says, reaching her hand out to rest on top of his and it doesn’t feel the same, their hands don’t fit like he thought they did; now they don’t feel right, they used to feel right, and he doesn’t understand he doesn’t understand he doesn’t understand…

“But, but I was going to ask you to…”

“Food’s here!” The waiter calls, dropping two plates of something (something, Liam doesn’t care) on the table in front of the two. Danielle’s façade is starting to waver a bit but in the whole she’s standing strong, sitting up straight in her chair because no matter how stubborn Liam can be, she is ever the more. The weight in Liam’s pocket is growing heavier with every passing breath, pulling him down and reminding him that he failed, that he hasn’t changed, that he’s still the little boy who the other kids tied to the flagpole and videotaped, still the kid the others used to tease in the locker rooms, hiding his clothes while he’s showering and laughing behind his back. He’s still the same person and he’s only fooling himself by thinking that someone could actually love him. Such a stupid idea (a stupid idea to go with a stupid boy).

Danielle smiles and says thank you to the waiter and that’s it, that’s all Liam can take because that smile, that smile she’s handing to the waiter—a stranger—is a sweeter smile than she’s ever given him in a long time, more genuine than he’s seen lately and Liam wonders when she stopped smiling at him like she was happy. He wonders if she was ever happy with him.

“Liam where’re you going, the food just got here, Liam!”

He’s already running before she can even stand up.

He doesn’t know why he goes home, because surely home would remind him of her, wouldn’t it? Everything about her is there, from a few sets of her clothes to the weird knick-knacks she would buy whenever she went antique shopping. 

It even smells like her, everything smells like her and its terrible, it’s horrible and why he here, the couch is so empty when she’s not there to fill it up with him, the room is so quiet without her giggling and singing along to whatever music she’s decided she likes that day. He trips over the coffee table (a ghastly thing that doesn’t actually hold anything, too sleek and curved for anything to balance on it but it’s only for decoration, Danielle promised with a grin when they bought it) on the way to the bathroom because he needs to pee, maybe then he could think because he can’t think right now, hell he can’t even breath.

Liam wishes everything felt like how it feels when he pees. 

It might be an odd thing to think, but he does. Going to the bathroom is so easy, you don’t need to think about it, you don’t need to prepare for it or study for it, there isn’t any social economical or racial differences because everyone pees, babies old people women men, everyone pees. 

If life was more like that it would be so much easier. 

Liam used to think about this a lot back in high school, back when he would get panic attacks at the drop of the hat, back whenever he overheard kids make fun of him and when teachers would roll their eyes when he raise his hand to answer in class. Liam used to think a lot about these things and more, about what it would feel like to stand on top of a bridge; smile down at the water as it takes him fully, sucking his last breath out of him like a gentle kiss. He would think about what it would be like to just walk onto train tracks, feel the bumps of the pebbles under his shoe-clad feet as a blaring train came towards him, speeding like a beautiful bullet until he became part of it.

He would think about this a lot before the medication.

The medication.

Liam remembers it’s in the cabinet above the sink, the one with the mirror and his shaving cream, so he steps across the bathroom in one long stride, fumbling with the handle and pointedly not looking in the mirror because he’ll be disappointed (he’ll be disappointed just like how everyone else is disappointed in him). He pulls the door open a bit harder than necessary but he doesn’t pay it much mind, instead frantically flicking his eyes back and forth, searching for the little orange bottle because he feels like he’s falling back into the black pit, he feels the darkness seeping into him and it needs to stop. Dr. Wright said to take two pills whenever he feels like he’s falling again, and it’s been so long since he’s needed them, it’s been so long and he’s felt so secure and this is his punishment, isn’t it? His punishment for thinking he might be loved.

He spots the orange and reaches to grab it, his fingers brushing along the plastic but then his eyes spot something else only a few centimeters to the right and he pauses, considering. 

She didn’t like his hair.

He grabs his razor instead and slams the door shut hard enough for a crack to form right in the center of the mirror, where Liam’s face is right now and that’s fitting, isn’t it he thinks with a self-deprecating laugh. He’s still laughing when he shaves right down the center of his head.

It hurts, using a razor that is made for facial hair, and he’s doing a spotting job, some parts of his hair only slightly shorter than it was while other spots completely bare down to his scalp, but he doesn’t care right now because she told him he needed to cut his hair he needed to cut his hair. Liam doesn’t realize there’s blood dripping down the side of his face until he finishes, throwing the razor now stained red down on the floor. He finally actually looks for the first time that night, for the first time actually registering the tears staining his cheeks and the tuffs of hair spotted throughout his hair and the many cuts from his hurried job and the way his blood is staining his scalp.

He starts crying harder, sinking down to the floor because he should be feeling better now shouldn’t he? He’s stopped lying to himself, he’s accepted the fact that no one can love him, come on this is Liam (Liam, the one who never went to a school dance and spent his Friday nights huddled in the corner of his closet in the dark, hiding from himself).

He doesn’t register the fact that he’s got his phone out until it’s already dialed and the sound of ringing is breaking the perfect silence.

Perfect.

“Ello?” A groggy voice answers, seemingly distracted and that’s what Liam does, isn’t it? He shouldn’t push himself on people, they don’t want him they’ve got other things to worry about, other people to love. 

“Niall?” Liam asks instead, because he’s selfish isn’t he?

There’s a sound on the other side, a shuffling like Niall’s just started paying attention now that Liam’s talked. “Liam? What’s wrong? It sounds like you’re crying, are ya alright?” the other boy sounds like he’s panicked but Liam knows better, he knows Niall is probably just mad Liam’s disturbing him.

Why would anyone want to talk to Liam?

“Niall, why can’t anyone love me?”

________________________________________________

Louis doesn’t know how long he’s been standing in the doorway (long enough for the two cups of tea he’s been holding to grow cold, that’s for sure). Harry’s already in bed, covers pulled up to his chin even though it’s warm and Louis can see Harry still awake by the way he’s tapping his fingers on Louis’ pillow, but his eyes are closed and his lips slightly parted, just on the verge of falling asleep and Louis’ pretty sure his heart can’t take this.

“Are you going to bring me my tea or are you going to keep standing there watching me like we’re in some creepy vampire movie?” Harry mumbles from the bed and Louis jumps, not knowing that Harry knew he was just standing there for who knows how long. 

“I was spaced out, sorry love.” Louis apologizes but Harry just rolls his eyes and sits up, blinking at Louis for a moment before a smile spreads across his face (Louis’ favorite smile, the one Harry reserves just for him, the smile that shows off his dimples and is wide enough that Harry has to mostly close his eyes, lolling his head to the side in a lazy little swing and Harry never looks as vulnerable as he does when he smiles like this, never looks as open and welcoming and trusting. And maybe that’s why Louis loves this smile so much, he loves that he’s so trusted).

Louis climbs onto the bed and shuffles up carefully so he doesn’t spill until he’s sitting on Harry’s thighs on top of the duvet, close enough that their chests are almost touching and Louis tries not to blush because Harry’s not wearing a shirt (or pants from what Louis can tell) and even after all this time Louis sometimes gets these little bouts of embarrassment because how is this his life? 

Harry takes one of the cups (the green one with the deer on the front, a set he and Louis bought when on their first American tour while in Kansas. Louis’ cup is blue with a little bear on it) and cups it in his palms, his hands completely covering it and he holds the cup up to his lips, closing his eyes as he breaths in the steam rising off the tea.

“Mm, thanks. I think you’ve finally got my order down.” Harry whispers into his cup and Louis rolls his eyes as he takes a drink of his own because he’s known how to make Harry’s tea for a while, the other boy just likes giving him a hard time about it. They drink in silence after that, a comfortable silence that one can only get when they’ve met someone they really love, someone they know well enough that they can speak just by giving each other quick glances and tiny quirks of their mouths. 

Harry finishes first (finishes first because he just likes to drink to get it over with, while Louis likes to take his time, small sips with enough time in between just to savor the taste, roll it around on his tongue so he can recall all the individual flavors.) and sets his glass on the bedside table, stretching his arm so he doesn’t have to move and jostle Louis off his lap. When he pulls back he takes a moment to really look at Louis this time, look at him with his hands, trailing a finger over Louis’ nose, bumping against his glasses as he moves against his cheekbones. Louis blushes again and Harry can’t help be triumphant, because Louis doesn’t blush unless it’s late, unless he’s tired, unless it’s just him and Harry alone. 

“You’re so weird, Haz, what’re you doing?” Louis speaks into his mug and Harry just shrugs, smiling in a way that it reaches his eyes, content dancing against the green and settling in his spine, and the two move even closer (if that’s even possible), until their chests are flush against each other and Louis’ cup stuck between them. Harry moves his hands down until they’re trailing down Louis’ back, moving up and down until they’re settling around his waist, his thumbs pressing against the dimples in his lower back.

“Stop playing with my chub,” Louis mumbles into Harry’s shoulder, squeezing his hands tighter around his cup but there’s not much else he can do, his arms stuck between their bodies as they rest against each other (not that Louis really minds, this is his favorite part of the day, when he and Harry can just sit in relative silence, the heat of their bodies warming them up as their eyes slowly grow heavier.) “it’s not nice, I already know I’m fat, unlike you Mr. Perfect.”

“Don’t say that,” Harry says with a bit more force than Louis was expecting, and Harry tightens his hands so his thumbs are pressing a bit harder into Louis’ flesh, “you’re perfect. Everything, I love these little dimples, and I love how you have these weird freckles on your shoulders,” Harry punctuates it by kissing Louis, brushing his shirt to the side with his nose so he can kiss his the soft skin of his shoulder. “I love those little crinkles by your eyes that only come out when you smile. I love that you get really embarrassed because your hands are so small but I love them because they’re so cute. I love that you have to cuff the bottoms of your trousers because they’re always too long on you, and I love that you never wear any socks even though it makes your feet all smelly. And I love you, you’re perfect to me.” Louis’ head has drifted down at one point or another until his face is buried in Harry’s neck, and Harry speaking against his cheek (and Louis’ not sure what he’s listening to, Harry’s voice or the way his lips brush against his cheek to form his words, his beautiful words).

“Harry, stop being wonderful.” Harry quietly laughs against Louis’ cheek, slowly brushing his lips up until he’s lightly kissing Louis’ hair, reaching in between their bodies to pull out the cup (still half full, although now gone cold) and set it next to Harry’s on the nightstand so the two handles are resting against each other in a kiss.

“I know, I’m awesome,” Harry says and Louis gives him a half-assed slap on the arm but he’s too tired to say much else, “let’s go to bed. Get under the covers, I’m cold.”

“Bossy.” Louis mumbles into Harry’s neck and the other boy chuckles, giving Louis’ hair one more kiss before lightly pushing on Louis’ shoulders, prompting him to move. Louis lethargically leans back and crawls under the covers, lying mostly on top of Harry like the human octopus he is, their chests resting against each other and yup, Harry’s definitely not wearing any pants. Louis trails one hand lower, lazily tracing Harry’s left hip but soon his hand is being covered. 

“Unless you’re going to follow through don’t go there.” Harry smiles but his eyes are already closed, his head resting against the pillow so he’s on his back, his curls splayed around him like a halo and Louis can’t help but lean up a bit, resting on one elbow near Harry’s head so he’s looking down at him, staring at the way Harry seems to be an angel (his angel).

“What?” Harry mumbles without opening his eyes, simply sensing Louis’ thinking about something. Louis takes the arm not supporting him and trails it down Harry’s chest, his fingertips dancing against his skin like kisses and Harry can’t help but smile.

“You’re perfect too.” Louis finally decides on saying, biting his lower lip as he once again wonders how he could have gotten so lucky.

“Thanks love,” Harry murmurs, already mostly asleep, one of his hands lazily reaching up to grab the one playing on his chest, slotting their fingers together like they’re made for each other (and of course they fit together perfectly, Louis thinks, they were meant to be).

“You were talking in your sleep again last night,” Louis says a moment later, but he doesn’t say it too loud, mostly speaking to himself because Harry’s already resting in Sleep’s arms, cradled in Darkness’ blanket, “you were telling me about how the king couldn’t be trusted. I told you we didn’t have a king, but you wouldn’t listen. It’s okay though, I think you ended up assassinating him.” Harry lets out a little breath in response, and that’s enough for Louis and he lays back down, fitting his head in the crook of Harry’s shoulder because Harry’s perfect to him.

_________________________________________

“I can’t eat this all, take some please before I get sick.” Amber (Ashley?) pouts and of course Zayn has to take some, because boys eat a lot and girls don’t so he should take some. The chips taste like saw-dust in his mouth but he swallows anyway, because she’s watching him, flicking her hair over her shoulder.

She is really pretty, Zayn can’t help but think. She’s sitting on the bar stool as Zayn stands closer to her than strictly necessary, his hand resting on her exposed thigh. Her ankles are crossed like the lady she pretends to be and her fingers are flirting with Zayn’s collar.

“So, you’re a popstar? My friends won’t ever believe me.” Her voice is nasally, and that is rather off-putting Zayn can’t help but admit, but he can just tune her out later that night, because really once you get them in bed you don’t have to listen much anymore.

“Yeah, that’s me. They’ll probably be jealous anyway though; I know my friends would be jealous of me, getting to spend time with you.” Ashley (Amber?) blushes and he can’t help but wish it wasn’t that easy, but that’s how it goes he guesses. She giggles and twirls a lock of her perfectly straightened hair around her finger, tightening it and pulling until it falls.

And repeat.

Zayn takes another chip, because that’s what she expects, and it’s even worse this time around and he can already feel the bile rising in his throat, but he can’t do it here. It’ll just have to wait. 

“So, Amber…”

“Ashley.” She corrects, her face hardening a bit and her eyes narrow in suspicion, and Zayn’s good at lying, he has to do something before…

“I’m sorry, Ashley. I knew that,” she opens her mouth to interrupt but Zayn quickly speeds up, talking loud enough so she can’t speak over him, “it’s just my ex-fiancé was named Amber, and I sometimes forget we broke up.” Ashley’s face turns from indignant to sympathizing in two seconds flat, and it takes all Zayn has not to high-five himself right then and there.

“Oh darling, I’m so sorry. Do you want to talk about it?”

“There’s nothing to talk about really,” Zayn shrugs, trying to look like he’s ready to break but staying strong at the same time (a look he’s perfected pretty well in the past year), “it was the wedding day and she just…left. Just left. Said something about not wanting to be tied down or something.”

“Oh, baby…” she whispers, her face screwed up in pity and both her hands go up to rest on his shoulders, rubbing them gently, “you were left at the altar. That must have been so hard for you.”

“It’s been almost four months now,” Zayn answers, slowly moving his hand higher on her thigh to see if she’ll protest, “I really need to accept it, no matter how much it hurts.” She nods like she understands.

“It’s okay not to be strong all the time,” Ashley-not-Amber says, and Zayn holds himself back from laughing, because can anyone say bull-shit? It’s not okay, because even one slip up, one moment he’s not strong, and the media will eat him alive; chew him up, digest him and spit him out again.

“I know.” Zayn says instead, and she gives a sympathetic little smile.

“How about this; we finish up eating and then head back to mine to…talk a bit more. Is that okay?” Zayn nods and holds back a grimace when she pushes the plate closer to him.

He can only eat two more before he feels like he’s going to be sick.

“I just have to run to the bathroom,” Zayn smiles, trailing his hand a bit further up until it’s playing at the end of her extremely short skirt, “and then we can head out, yeah?” She nods and reaches around for her coat and Zayn makes a b-line for the bathroom.

The bathrooms are rather small, only about four stalls and Zayn hates washrooms like these, too small they are because if there’re even ONE other person he’s screwed, because they would be able to hear him. It’s empty today though (courtesy of it being a Wednesday night) so Zayn takes a blessing for what it is and quickly gets in one of the stalls and falls to his knees.

The first time he did this he was eleven and it was his birthday.

It was a Monday, raining like normal and it was oddly warm for the season. He started the day just like always, walking to school listening to his Walkman even though his mother tells him not to, that the water will electrocute him or that someone could sneak up on him while he’s not paying attention. He sat through school like normal, not saying one word throughout the day, instead doodling on the corners of his textbooks when he was supposed to be working and reading when he was supposed to be paying attention. No one in class said anything to him, no one told him happy birthday (not that he expected it, it’s not like anyone would know), hell no one even looked at him. 

It wasn’t that much different at home, his mother spent the day at work (not getting home until way past the time Zayn goes to bed) and his sisters weren’t too different, all doing their own things, only taking enough time to wish him to have a good day if they happened to pass by. 

He’s not sure why, but he ate pretty much everything in the cupboard. He ate the whole bag of bread without toasting it or buttering it, he ate the whole jar of Pringles and a bag of pretzel sticks. He had Oreos and wheat-thins and a whole carton of orange juice, and he just kept on eating long after his stomach started to protest and he didn’t know why, hell he didn’t even wonder why, he just brought armfuls of food up to his room and dumped them on the bed, moving them around until there was room for him to sit, for him to get handfuls at a time as he stared passively at the wall.

Afterwards he hated himself more than he usually does. He hated himself for being useless, for being invisible, for being a pig and he’s disgusting why does a fat cock like him even exist? 

It took him less than three minutes to find himself kneeling in front of his toilet, his finger down his throat until he’s gagging; purging all the filth he had inhaled just moments before. He hated himself more than he ever had before, but he also loved himself more than he thought he deserved.

He started smoking two days later and it was six more years until he purged again.

The cold tile is starting to hurt under his knees, but it barely even resisters as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, looking down at the bile he just released into the toilet. 

He stands up.

It’s been hurting to walk lately, although he’s not sure why, and that’s what he’s thinking about when he’s standing in front of the mirror, his hands gripping the edges of the sink in a way that is hurting both him and the sink itself. 

His cheeks are more sunken in than normal, and he wonders when that happened. He also notices the bags under his eyes, the lines forming around his mouth, the way his hair is more lifeless than usual. His hands are really bony, but they’ve always been bony (haven’t they?). Zayn can’t take his gaze away from the mirror for a few more moments, wondering how he could look so different in such a short time, but then he’s backing away, staring at his shoes for a moment and wondering if Ashley will notice if he goes out back for a smoke. 

He settles for popping a piece of gum in his mouth to get rid of the sour taste, and he meets her in the front of the small pub, grabbing her hand and flagging down a cab.

__________________________________________

“It’s okay, love, I’ve got you.” Niall repeats, rubbing his thumb over Liam’s cheek. Liam’s head is in Niall’s lap and Niall’s just finished rubbing disinfectant cream on the cuts on Liam’s head, having to stop every once in a while when Liam would whine in pain. He’s wrapped gauze as best he could over the cuts but he’s never been the best at first aid, and he just hopes he’s done enough.

“Niall?”

“Yes love?” Niall’s still rubbing Liam’s cheek, using the tip of his finger to trace patterns onto his skin, as if he could mark Liam with just his love. Liam’s still shaking, even after they’ve been sitting there for almost an hour, and if his heart isn’t breaking Niall isn’t sure what’s going on. 

“Dani broke up with me.” Niall nods, because Liam’s already told him that, already repeated it enough times for him to understand, and Niall thought he would have been happier when Liam told him.

Niall expected to be excited when this day came; he thought he would be ecstatic. He knew Liam would be upset, hell of course he would be. But then he would come crying into Niall’s arms, to his best friend who was there though everything, the good and the bad.

And then Niall would comfort him, explain to him that this is for the best, and then he would proceed to kiss the life out of him.

Now that his chance is here, it’s a lot less appealing.

“She d—didn’t think we were w-working out…she didn’t l-like that I wasn’t e-ever here…” Liam says and Niall already knows, Liam’s already said, but even now, even again, Niall can feel the hurt in each of Liam’s words, the raw emotion and dejection and pain, and if this is what the break-up is doing to Liam, Niall takes back all those hours of praying, of wishing and hoping that they would split.

Because seeing Liam so broken isn’t worth it.

“It’s not as bad as you think, Li. Maybe after the tour, once you get back maybe she’ll remember how perfect you two are together and give it another shot.” Niall whispers, running his hand over Liam’s neck and down his chest before coming back up again. And repeat.

“No, n-no she won’t because she doesn’t love me, s-she never loved me. N-no one loves me, no one can love me.”

“That’s not true, Li.” Niall says, brushing his hand over Liam’s cheek again just because he can, because this is one of the only times his can touch Liam as much as he wants and not get called out for it. Niall can’t keep his eyes off Liam’s lips, because even when there’s so much pain masking Liam’s beauty his perfection is still obvious, and the way he purses his lips before biting them, running his tongue over them and sucking them into his mouth, it’s distracting, even now. Especially for Niall.

“It is true; it’s true it’s true it’s true it’s TRUE!” Liam’s crying even louder now and he’s sitting up, banging his head against the cabinet and Niall isn’t sure if he is doing it on accident or purpose but he’s not about to wait around to find out.

“Li, calm down, I told you it’s not true, it’s not true because when have I ever lied to you?” Niall scoots up to wrap his arms back around Liam and his pulls him in, realizing that Liam’s resorted to silent tears now (the worst kind, the kind that fall down his blank face, lax in resignation), crying into Niall’s shoulder and shaking with every gasp for air.

“It’s not true because I love you Li, just remember that I love you.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re my best friend, you have to.” Liam whimpers and Niall’s heart breaks even more than it already was, because what is he to say to that?

Niall wants to say no, he’s not just saying that because he’s his best friend, he’s saying it because it’s true, he loves him. But not the love Liam’s thinking about, not the best friend love, the platonic love, the innocent love. Niall loves Liam the same way Liam loves Danielle, passionately, with his whole heart, his whole soul. He loves Liam in the way that hurts, the love that digs deep into his heart and burrows, growing and growing until it’s large enough to eat him alive, from the inside out. Niall loves Liam in a way that will not fully go away, not even with time and distance and distractions.

And the worse part? Liam will never love him back, not even a fraction the kind of love Niall has for him.

“I don’t have to say anything Li,” Niall decides, running his hand along the back of Liam’s neck, “I’m telling you I love you because it’s true, and don’t you ever…ever believe differently, understand?” Niall waits until Liam nods before moving his hand again, rubbing his back in a (hopefully) soothing way.

“Good, now that we got that settled,” Niall pats Liam’s back and stands up, untangling their limbs in the process, “let’s go eat yeah? We have a flight in the morning, so we’ve got to get ready too, plus we need to get there early so someone can fix your hair.” Liam looks up at Niall, still sitting on the ground, tears staining his cheeks and his eyes rimmed red, blood still spotted in his hair. Niall raises his eyebrows and holds his hand out, shaking it until Liam holds onto it, allowing Niall to pull him up and into another embrace.

“I’ll always love you Li, no matter what, okay?” Liam nods again into his friends neck, gripping Niall’s shoulders like a lifeline and they stand there for a few more minutes, waiting until Liam finishes shaking.

They eat cold pizza Niall found in the refrigerator, curled up together on the couch watching mindless late-night television. Liam’s head is back in Niall’s lap, and Niall pretends he doesn’t notice when Liam’s cheeks become wet again and Liam pretends not to notice that Niall is always touching him more than a platonic friend usually would. 

Liam falls asleep around 1:00 and Niall stays up to watch him, captivated by the way he breathes in and out, how his chest rises and falls, how he looks so peaceful (so beautiful).

Niall can’t help but smile, because he’s waited this long, he can wait a bit more.

He’ll always wait for him.

_________________________________________

“Harry, where’re my shoes? Harry?”

“By the door. Have you got your suitcase?” Harry calls from the bathroom and Louis throws one more shirt in his bag before zipping it up (and if he had to lean a bit on it to get it to close, oh well).

“Yeah, I’m ready.” Louis yells, shouting at the door the exact moment Harry emerges, freshly showered and as perfect as ever.

“No need to yell love, I’m right here.” Harry raises his eyebrows and Louis sticks his tongue out at him, prompting a ringing laugh from Harry and that’s what he’s here for isn’t it? To make Harry laugh.

If the only sound Louis ever heard again was the sound of Harry’s laugh, he would be the happiest man alive.

“Where’s your suitcase then? Have you even packed yet?” Louis asks and Harry raises his eyebrows even higher before pointing to the corner, where his suitcase is in fact packed and ready to go, sitting there since the night before and can someone say ‘overachiever’?

“Show off.” Louis murmurs but Harry just rolls his eyes, only letting a tiny laugh escape his lips before they’re kissing, slow and lazy and familiar and perfect.

“We’re late.” Harry mumbles against Louis’ lips and Louis answers him by pressing their lips together again. “We need to go, we’re always the last ones, let’s make Zayn take Liam’s scolding this time.” Louis agrees by pressing their lips together again and turning around, picking up his obnoxiously large suitcase and dropping it on the floor.

“Let’s go then, what’re you waiting for?” Louis asks, mimicking the way Harry always seems to raise his eyebrows and Harry rolls his eyes but grabs his bag, leading them out to the front door.

“This is going to be fun, right?” Louis asks, and Harry can hear just a hint of worry in his voice, just a little bit of fear and it’s weird, it’s usually the other way around, it’s usually Louis assuring Harry of things.

“Yeah, this is going to be great.” Harry gives his most convincing smile and grabs Louis’ hand, throwing his bag over his shoulder so he can open the door.

He’s not sure how he didn’t notice it earlier, how it took him long enough that they were standing on the front porch to see. 

The second they step outside a roar bursts up, echoing down the street and throughout Harry’s whole body. People are completely covering his front lawn, news trucks crowding the streets and parked on his grass and fuck that’s going to ruin the lawn isn’t it? Voices are shouting at the two boys from all directions but neither one can move, both completely frozen in their place because how…

“How did they get your address…Harry how did they get your address?” Louis looks up at him, his eyes frantic and this isn’t how the morning is supposed to go, this isn’t what should be happening.

“I don’t know, I…” at the same time they both look down, realization dawning on them because their hands are still linked together and this can’t be happening. Louis quickly pulls his hand away but it’s too late, everything’s too late because questions are being shouted at them every way they turn, questions about ‘whether the rumours are true’ or ‘if they’re really together.’ Questions about why they’re keeping so many secrets and if Harry really did have an affair with the wife of the head of the PR firm, questions about their personal lives and their corporate preferences and their fucking income. Harry can feel Louis shaking next to him (or maybe it’s he who’s shaking…or maybe they both are.) and that wakes him up, reminds him that a car should be waiting for them, and…there! A black SUV is parked not too far from where all the news trucks are parked and Nathan from their security team is wading through the crowd, desperately trying to get to them.

“Come on, Lou, we need to go.” Harry grabs Louis by his bicep, holding onto him to make sure he doesn’t get lost, and he’s pushing through the reporters, ignoring all their questions in favor of making it to the car soon. Louis’ holding onto the back of Harry’s shirt now, clutching it as the noise around them seem to grow louder and really if Nathan hadn’t gotten to him as fast as he did Harry’s not sure he could have made it without punching a rude reporter or two in the face.

In all it was probably only twenty or thirty reporters, about as many people filming and a few more just spectating, but it seems like as many people as when they were mobbed in France because this time the questions were personal and invasive and oh so spot on.

“Harry, how did they find us?” Louis asks again once they’re in the car, shaking because how?

“I don’t know.” Harry snips, frustrated because this shouldn’t have happened, never should have happened why did this happen. “One of my neighbors might have seen us get in yesterday and tipped someone off?”

“They don’t know about us, do they? Harry do they? They can’t know about this I can’t deal with this this can’t be happening Harry what is…”

“Louis, it’s okay,” Harry starts but then Louis’ turning in his seat, glaring at Harry like he doesn’t understand (Harry doesn’t understand).

“No, no it’s not, it’s not okay Harry!” Louis shouts, not caring that Nathan can hear them in the front seat.

“It’s not the end of the world, Lou. It might be nice, you know? Coming out. We wouldn’t have to hide anymore, wouldn’t that be rather good?”

And the thing is, this isn’t the first time Harry’s thought about this. About just telling everyone and getting it over with. No more hiding, no more lying, no more faking girlfriends and pretending they don’t want to be together all the time, to hold each other when something good happens, to comfort each other when it’s something bad. It would be nice to be able to tell the whole world that Louis is his, and he’s Louis’.

Wouldn’t it be nice to tell the whole world he’s in love?

“No, no it’s wouldn’t be nice Harry!” Louis hisses, sounding a bit more sarcastic than Harry would expect, “it’ wouldn’t be nice, just imagine, get your head out of the clouds for just a moment, yeah?” Louis scoots forward, holding Harry’s head in his palms like he wants to make sure he’s listening, “the band would be screwed because that would be our identifier, the boyband with two members gay for each other. We would ruin Liam, Niall, and Zayn’s chances of doing anything after One Direction breaks up. We would lose most of our audience, either by putting off the pre-teens who pretend like they’re going to marry you one day or by scaring off the parents, because really what mother wants her daughter in love with a gay band? And then America is rather conservative as a whole, so we’ll lose favor there. We won’t be invited on those stupid little kid shows, we’ll stop selling out arenas. And don’t forget about the bible nutters who will want to ‘save us’.” Louis looks frantic now, lightly tugging on the ends of Harry’s hair, “and then the hate Harry, I don’t think I can handle anymore. You don’t understand, people like you, they like you. You’re the cute little cheeky boy who has a way with the birds but gotta love you anyway right?” Louis’ shaking his head up and down like he’s answering for Harry anyway, wanting him to understand, “and that’s great, that’s perfect, because I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if anyone made you sad, okay? But I’m the one everyone loves to hate, I’m the one our PR makes look like a prink on Twitter, I’m the one people like to think is rude to fans, and that’s okay, that’s okay because that means they’re not hurting you, but Harry,” Louis leans in closer, pressing their foreheads together and his voice is growing progressively calmer, quieter, and Harry kind of wishes he was still yelling, “Harry I can’t take any more, I don’t think. I’m already the least attractive boyband member, the least loved boy of One Direction. I’m already the twinky boy that everyone forgets the name of, I already have the least amount of followers and fans and people would much rather take pictures with you than me, but that’s okay. It’s okay but I’m not sure I can handle too more right now.”

Harry’s hands are gripping the front of Louis’ shirt and they fall into silence after that, both breathing into each other, holding each other up as they huddle together in the car.

“Wouldn’t it be worth it, though?” Harry finally asks, pleadingly searching Louis’ eyes, his heart sinking when the sparkle usually living there seems to be hiding, defeat crawling into the vacated space instead. “Wouldn’t it be worth it, being able to tell the whole world we love each other? That what we have is absolutely beautiful?”

“Harry,” Louis says, his name coming out in a soft breath, a caress, “I don’t think I can do it, I don’t think I can handle it.”

Harry tightens his grip and he’s desperate, he can feel the desperation oozing out of him but he doesn’t care (he doesn’t care) “after the tour? What about after the world tour? Can we tell everyone then?” Louis seems to deflate at the question, shrinking into himself and Harry can feel the pit of his stomach drop because he’s never seen Louis so small before, and it hurts.

“Maybe,” Louis finally answers, moving back to his own seat right as they reach the airport, “well talk about it later yeah?”

Harry doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he knows Louis’ lying.

_____________________________________________

Zayn knows he’s late, but he can’t even bring himself to care as he stomps out his cigarette, grinding it into the cement before continuing on his way, through the back of the airport that the airline specifically granted for them so they won’t be mobbed. The other boys are already on the plane when he arrives, and he’s not stupid, he can tell something happened. He can tell by the way Harry’s curled up in a ball, (looking absolutely ridiculous because he’s so big, but the way he sits he might as well not have grown since he was 16) he can tell by the way Liam is staring at the wall, unwavering (and by the way Liam’s hair is completely shaved off, nice and smooth and new and it must have been shaved this morning), he can tell by the way Niall is staring at Liam, like he might explode any moment, he can tell by the way Louis is incessantly tapping his fingers against the arm of the seat, shaking his leg and looking as if he can’t focus on anything. 

No one greets Zayn as he slides into a seat, all stuck in their own worlds but Zayn’s okay with it, really, he’s used to it.

He listens to his music most of the flight, thinking about nothing and everything, and it’s not until their meal comes does anything happen.

“Zayn, aren’t you going to eat?” Harry asks, furrowing his eyebrows as he notices that Zayn hasn’t even touched the hamburger the flight attendant gave him about an hour ago.

“No, not hungry really.”

“It’s been like six hours in flight, and knowing you you haven’t eaten breakfast either, how can you go that long?” Harry insists, and Zayn shrugs, hoping for Harry to give up. Harry eyes him warily for a moment before going back to his own iPod, but now it’s Louis watching him. 

Zayn’s noticed it before, of course. He’s noticed the way Louis watches him during their meals, noticed the way he follows him with his eyes whenever Zayn escapes to the washroom, the way Louis is silent about it all. He’s noticed of course, but it doesn’t mean he’s not pretending everything’s fine. Zayn picks up the hamburger, unwrapping it from its foil and even just the scent is disgusting and he tries his hardest not to gag as he picks it up. He can feel Louis still watching him when he takes his first bite of the burger, forcing it to go down no matter how terrible the feeling is, like swallowing expired milk that’s turned powdery. He takes two more bites, successfully swallowing before setting the sandwich down and pushing it away.

He doesn’t have to look up to know Louis’ watching him.

He lasts two more minutes before the feeling becomes too much and he’s tripping over himself on the way to the bathroom stall, quickly falling to his knees and his hand barely reaches his lips before everything’s coming back up, spilling into the toilet and he doesn’t know he’s crying until another pair of arms are holding him close, until his face is burrowed in a warm chest and his shirt is stained with tears.

“It hurts.”

“I know love,” the voice whispers into his hair, one hand running it’s fingers through it while the other holds him close.

“Lou I don’t like this, make it stop.” The hand doesn’t falter from its ministrations and Louis is tugging Zayn even closer to his chest, cradling him like Louis’ mother would do to him when he was a child. 

“I will, love. When we land we’re going to talk to Paul, and we’ll set you up from a therapist. We’ll see where we go after that, okay?” Louis mumbles into his hair and Zayn isn’t sure if he’s frightened or relieved, isn’t sure if this is how it should go, is this how it should be?

“Lou, I…”

“What?” Louis prompts after a few moments of silence, but Zayn can’t answer, because he doesn’t know, he never really knows does he?

They don’t leave the washroom for another thirty minutes, just sitting there, Louis holding Zayn and murmuring nonsense in his hair. Nothing’s changed when they get back, everyone is still secluded in their own world and it would be odd if Zayn cared enough to wonder about it, but it’s Niall who notices.

Niall really can’t stand it to be honest.

“I want you all to know,” Niall starts, sitting up a bit higher in his seat as each of the boys whip their heads around, “that you’re all my brothers, and that means so much to me. I know we all have our own thing we’re trying to deal with, but I just want to know that I love you, all of you.” Niall lets his gaze linger only a moment on Liam (beautiful, perfect Liam) before stopping on each of the other boys in turn, making sure they’re paying attention. “Honestly though, I don’t think you’re giving yourselves enough credit. You’re all wonderful, great, loving people and I hate to see you think so low of yourselves. I just wish you guys could love yourselves half as much as I love you. And I just hope that if I let you know that I’m here for you, you guys might love yourselves a bit more, because you all are my life.”

Everyone stays silent for the rest of the plane ride, but no one else needs to thank him, to say the same thing, to verbalize their love (they already know).

___________________________________________

“So,” Louis is the first to break the silence, stopping at the top of the stairs, just far enough back that the giant crowd waiting for them down there can’t see him, “this is it then, isn’t it?”

They had just landed in Japan, their luggage already taken to their cars as the disembarked the flight, and the roar of the crowd is borderline deafening downstairs, the entryway completely filled with teen girls waiting for them and an even larger crowd waiting outside the airport.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Liam agrees, looking over the railing at the screaming girls below, wondering what they’re going to do now. 

Louis instinctively reaches his hand out, grabbing Harry’s tightly in his own, and after a short hesitation he grabs Liam’s hand to his right. Liam looks startled for a moment as he looks down, but he accepts it without another thought and reaches out for Niall’s hand. Niall relaxes into it, smiling over at Liam as the crowd seems to grow all the more louder. Harry reaches his arm out and catches Zayn’s in his own, completing the train.

“Well,” Zayn says, looking down the line of his bandmates, his brothers, noticing how they’re linking through their hands, forming a wall, ready for anything now that they’ve got each other, “here goes nothing.”


End file.
